


a song for my lover

by mariafuckingcalavera



Series: lucky you, huh? [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Falling In Love, Hozier References, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Piano, Song: Take Me To Church (Hozier), Songfic, qrow plays the piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23184094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariafuckingcalavera/pseuds/mariafuckingcalavera
Summary: my church offers no absoluteshe tells me "worship in the bedroom"the only Heaven I'll be sent tois when I'm alone with you
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen & Summer Rose, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Summer Rose
Series: lucky you, huh? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666735
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	a song for my lover

**Author's Note:**

> day 2 of fg week!!! making a series with some dates and domestic shenanigans! the series is titled "lucky you, huh?" and i will be updating this series whenever i feel like it so yeah thats a thing. enjoy one of the 3 short fics i have prepared for today!

Their laughter filled the chilling air, mist in the breeze.

Clover found himself doubled over with laughter, his cheeks tinted scarlet, laugh wrinkles at the corner of his eye as they walked around in the city centre. Snowflakes fell from the sky, each one intricate, infinitely different, exactly like how they were. Qrow never thought he'd meet someone more different than himself, let alone fall in love: how could he not, with the sparkle in his teal green eyes, with the pretty blush that spread across his face when he was breathless from laughter, the corner of his lips turned up in such a way that tempted Qrow to little kisses all over his lips and face. That joy of his was downright infectious, it should have been illegal, but alas: if it was, he wouldn't feel the butterflies in his stomach, his heart fluttering with glee.

"I can't believe you. Oh god, I feel so bad for laughing..." Clover trailed off as he finally calmed down enough to speak, the corners of his mouth still turned upwards into a smile as he tried his hardest not to unravel into a fit of giggles again.

"What can I say? I was a nightmare back at Beacon." Qrow chuckled, his gloved hands in his pockets, keeping out the cold. As they walked towards the city square, Qrow couldn't help but notice a familiar instrument at the corner of his eye. He turned his attention to the left to see am old piano: black paint chipping off the wooden instrument, the words "play me" carved into the side.

"Hey, boy scout. You play?" Qrow asked him as he gestured to the old piano sitting at the centre of the city square, a thin layer of snow starting to form on top of the cover.

"Nah, never thought to learn it. You?" Clover asked, and an idea sprouted in his mind, blossoming to form an idea he knew Clover would like. He gave the luckster a smirk as he slinked away from Clover, his body language beckoning him to follow as he walked towards the piano.

"No way. Qrow Branwen, out of all people, plays the piano?" Clover started in surprise and disbelief as Qrow sat on the piano bench, wiping the snow off the fallboard, lifting it to reveal the keys: once pristine, pure white keys yellowed with abandonment, soft to the touch. Qrow gently pressed some of the keys, testing the touch. His right foot found the pedal, finding it relatively easy to press. Heel to the ground, curved hands, her voice echoed in his head, the ghost of her hands subconsciously forming his posture to match hers: back straightened with the slightest curve, his hands curved, the heels of his hand above the key slip, avoiding it at all costs. Each and every one of his ten fingers lay on familiar keys, feeling every ridge, every note, fingertips resting on the white and black keys.

Summer had taught him almost thirty years ago: short, fleeting summer nights spent at the piano that used to linger at the corner of the academy gardens, the midnight breeze carrying away the dissonant notes and the failed attempts at a song as Summer guided his hands through the dance of the keys, and Qrow followed ever so diligently until he could perform it all on his own. And ever since he had stopped drinking, with the burn of liquor unable to roughen his voice any longer, he found that his singing voice, the one Summer loved, returned. Adequate, rusty from years of neglect, but still able to sing the familiar tunes, still able to form emotion into musical notes that vibrated through the air.

And so, he sang as his fingers danced along in their own volition.

_My lover's got humour_   
_He's the giggle at a funeral_   
_Knows everybody's disapproval_   
_I should've worshipped him sooner_

Clover couldn't tell which was more beautiful: the song, or Qrow himself.

He watched with a mixture of awe and amazement as a melody foreign to his memory falling from Qrow's lips, the tune echoing from deep in his throat, rose red eyes focused on his nimble fingers. His hands glided across the keyboard as some notes rang clear in the air, others blending together with his voice, everything forming a heavenly symphony. Gone was the furrow in his brow as he sang, his melodious voice wrapping him in warmth, yet sending shivers down his spine.

_If the heavens ever did speak_   
_He's the last true mouthpiece_   
_Every Sunday's getting more bleak_   
_A fresh poison each week_

And as Qrow's voice echoed through the crisp winter air, the two men found themselves entranced in their own little world, teal green meeting rose red as a smile crept onto Qrow's face, a song of devotion and love and a tale spilling from his lips. It was mere muscle memory now that ket Qrow's hands on the keys, when it used to take bravery to even think of sitting on a piano bench again, playing the forgotten love letter of a past lover. But Clover's presence provided a bravery richer than liquid courage, a love burning brighter in his heart than the petty fear of a piano and with a fire so beautiful, so divine, it would have been a shame not to show it to him, a shame not to tell clover that he was the spark.

_I was born sick, but I love it_   
_Command me to be well_

And so, he did, singing his prayers and his love to the only person he would worship.

Gods be damned.

Gods be damned, when Clover was right here.


End file.
